


the stopover

by nightbloomings



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomings/pseuds/nightbloomings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer of 1987, Michael and Trevor pass through whatever town Michael grew up in, in between jobs.</p><p>Originally posted as a spur-of-the-moment, standalone drabble on tumblr, I've re-written this a bit and have decided to work it in as a companion piece to Chapter 5 of Rites of Passage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the stopover

In the summer of 1987, Michael and Trevor pass through whatever town Michael grew up in, in between jobs. Michael makes them take the detour because he hasn't seen his mom in a while and he feels kinda guilty.

They show up, and Trevor’s feeling nervous. As if, he doesn't care if she likes him but at the same time, he sort of really wants her to. Maybe he straightens out his shirt, kinda smoothes his hair down while they're waiting for her to open the door.

And Mrs Townley's all warm and sweet and she whisks them inside. Trevor thinks she's cool because she doesn't ask a lot of questions, so he doesn't have to come up with a lot of answers. He just kind of hangs back and doesn't talk much, but he's still polite of course, he's not some backwater hick or anything. And he likes seeing her and Michael talk anyway. He's always known Michael has a heart, sometimes, somewhere deep in that barrel chest of his, but it's good to see where he gets it from.

She makes them dinner—nothing fancy, just your typical middle America weeknight dinner—but Trevor wolfs it down, even takes seconds when offered. She makes them dessert too: fucking _rice krispie squares_. Like they were kids or something. But whatever, Trevor has a couple anyway and tries to ignore it when he realises that his mom never made rice krispie squares when he was a kid.

Michael gives Trevor a quick tour of the place while his mom loads the dishwasher. It’s small and average and desperately suburban... but cozy at the same time. Trevor can see remnants of someone else that lives there, or maybe just lived there once—an old cigar box, a couple dirty baseball caps, nearly-empty bottles of jack and bourbon—and he doesn't ask about them, because he's not a moron and he knows enough about Michael to piece shit together.

Michael’s mom says they can stay the night if they want to, that she’ll do up the sofa bed in the family room for Trevor. Trevor panics for a second while she’s watching him, smiling a little and waiting for an answer, but then Michael jumps in and tells her they’re all paid up at a motel not far away. It’s a lie, a euphemism for the old hatchback they boosted earlier that day, but Trevor’s thankful for the save all the same.

Michael kisses his mom twice on the cheek and she gives him a hug, sniffing a bit when he pulls away, holding him by the shoulders and rubbing her thumb on the threadbare cotton of his t-shirt. Then she waves Trevor over, and gives him a hug too. She’s warm and smells a bit like talcum powder. She gives him a quick pat on the cheek and tells him that if he ever ends up back in wherever-they-are, to come by the house and she’ll see that he gets a good meal. He says thanks, that he will even though he won’t, and then he thanks her again for dinner.

They walk back to the car that’s parked a few blocks away, Trevor’s hands shoved in his pockets and his feet shuffling over the cracked sidewalks, and he’s not sure what he feels. Melancholy. Maybe a bit of jealousy, even. Whatever it is, he just wants to get to sleep, to get back on the road, to get back to more familiar territory.

 


End file.
